A Gentle Touch
by youareaneggroll
Summary: If there's one thing Max has learned from his time in the system, it's that kindness always comes with a price. Foster Parent AU Pt 3.
1. Chapter 1

Max was just two-years-old when he's first removed by social services. He's never told why.

He remembered being hungry and cold. He remembered darkened streets and the dim glow of street lamps, hundreds of people rushing past him day after day, hurried voices and white faces.

He didn't remember much of the lady he assumed was his mother who he'd sit with, couldn't even gather a clear picture of her face in his mind. All he had of her was the fading sensation of kind hands on his back and the lingering comfort of her whispers of Hindi by his ear, a language he never got the chance to learn.

Max was adopted quickly; all cute, quiet kids are, especially by rich families who want to parade people like Max around for the praise of taking on some poverty stricken, coloured child out of the goodness of their Christian hearts.

Or at least, this was what Max came to realise after spending the majority of the first part of his childhood with such a family. The Marshes.

There was his adoptive-mother, Martha Marsh, who had been the one to pick out the name 'Max' for him, Eric Marsh, Max's spoiled, snot-nosed adoptive-sibling, and Randy Marsh, his adoptive-father.

Max didn't see Randy much for the first five or so years living with the family, the man working away from home. Not that his presence would have made much difference: Martha ensured Max learnt very early on he wasn't a part of their family, that Eric was the only son she'd ever validate as her own. She stayed on Eric's side no matter how much he bullied Max, broke his things and excluded him from games with him and his friends.

The constant exclusion left Max snappy and defensive, which only rewarded him with more time sat in a cupboard under the stairs for hours on end, slaps around the face and constant chores.

" _Such a horrid child,_ " became Martha's favourite tag line.

And, because children become what they are told, Max became exactly what he was said to be. A horrid child.

Things went downhill when Randy lost his job. He went from barely being around to never not. He started drinking. Shortly after, arguments over Randy's lack of employment began between the married couple. Already, the scene was painted for a worse scenario.

Max was still haunted by the day everything took a turn for the worse. He had been in 3rd Grade. He took the bus home like usual, Eric and his friends sat behind him, throwing bits of paper and broken pencils and pens at him. They were making fun of the colour of his skin. It was nothing new.

Max and Eric went home, Martha greeting Eric with kisses that he protested whilst Max retreated to his room, ignored. He went to pull out his Game Boy from under his pillow, finding it was missing. Anger bubbled in his stomach and he marched downstairs to find Eric and demand where he'd hidden it.

He found his brother at the kitchen table, said Game Boy in his hands. Randy was there too, sat at the table, zoned out expression on his face as he smoked.

Cigarettes weren't allowed in the house, but Max didn't say anything, more concerned about getting his Game Boy back so he could finish Pokémon.

"Give it back," demanded Max, to the point.

"Fuck off, Max." Eric didn't even look up, continuing to click the game's buttons.

At the curse word, Max looked to Randy, but the man didn't seem to even acknowledge it, just blowing smoke through his nose, staring at the ceiling.

"Eric, it's not yours!" Max attempted to swipe it back.

Eric smirked, smacking Max's hands with the device before moving it out of reach. "Is now, retard. Started a new game too."

Max clutched his hand, anger swelling uglier. "Dude, why the fuck would you do that? I'd almost finished the last gym! That's not fair!"

"Shut it, will you?" slurred Randy, interrupting Max's whining.

"But it's mine!" continued Max, now directing his yelling at his drunk, adoptive-father, getting more upset. "He has his own! He's-"

Randy stood up, chair scraping on the tiled floor. A rough hand forced Max around and winded him as Randy shoved the child forward into table with a sneer.

Max didn't understand what he'd done wrong or what was happening until the lit cigarette in between Randy's teeth was burning a hole against the skin of his arm, the look of loathing on Randy's face sending chills deeper than the pain of the hot ash.

Max cried out in frightened confusion, Randy's maliciousness rearing from nothing. Even Eric looked scared, going silent.

There was a gasp at the doorway and Randy flinched in surprise and released him. It was Martha, she had just witnessed what had happened and Max had never been so relieved to see his mom in his entire life.

Her horrified expression morphed to fury. "How dare you-"

Max ran forward, held out his arms to her, tears streaking his face, wanting to be held and comforted and protected. Martha seemed be coming towards him too, but as soon as Max's hands contacted the front of her dress, he was shoved away.

She rushed over in favour to Eric, the golden child, who was still sat gormlessly clutching Max's Game Boy in his hands.

"How dare you do that in front of our son!"

The next day Martha and Eric were packed up and gone, leaving behind nothing but furniture, some old textbooks and Randy's growing collection of empty liquor bottles- oh, and Max. Max was left behind too.

Randy had friends over, Max could tell because of the noise coming from the living room situated directly below his own.

Pressing his ear against the floor, he listened to try and make out just how many they were. Max's stomach growled and he pressed a hand into his abdomen, his hunger becoming harder to ignore with each passing hour. He hadn't eaten now in two whole days.

Max decided he couldn't take the waiting any longer, convinced he was going to pass out if he continued to deprive himself of food.

He sneaked down the stairs, carefully placing both of his feet on each step one after the other, missing the seventh step entirely due to its creak. He held his breath as his stomach rumbled, pausing and listening. The chatter from the living room remained the same. He let his socked feet slide along the wooden floor of the hall.

He peeked around the corner of the living room, thinking he'd gotten away with it as he began to sneak past before-

"Who's that?" slurred a strange man, gesturing to the doorway where Max thought he had successfully hidden.

Randy looked over, his eyes narrowing at the sight.

"Max, come here," said Randy, setting down his can.

Max shifted into the room, hands curling into fists. He forced himself to look Randy in the eyes as he stood up and came towards him. The strange man was still watching him, the rest of the room's attention following now he was inside.

"I thought I told you to stay in your room, boy," Randy sounded drunk, irate.

"I've been in my room all day, I'm only going to the kitchen 'cause I'm fucking hungry and you won't feed me," Max argued back, adrenaline pumping high due to all the eyes on him.

"Is that how you speak to your father? Disrespect me in front of my friends?" Randy's nostrils flared. His big hands gripped Max and shook him so violently that his brain felt like it was mushing against the insides of his skull.

"Get off!" Max was disoriented, giving a kick to Randy's shin before he tried to wriggle away. "You aren't my fucking dad!"

Randy grunted at the sting of Max's kick, throwing him down onto the floor in retaliation. "You're right there, boy, you're no son of mine," he said, grabbing a fistful of the overgrown mop of hair on Max's head.

Max could hear Randy's friends laugh and jeer, a few taunts being thrown the child's way as Max tried futilely to escape. A carpet burn stung Max's arm from how he'd landed on the floor, the horrid yank to his hair causing him to cry out in pain, which only made the laughter worse.

"I said get the fuck off me, asshole!" screamed Max. He was dragged down the corridor by his hair, to Randy's study where he knew what was waiting for him. His chest constricted and tears burned in his eyes- he never went down without a fight.

"I'm gonna teach you some fucking manners."

Randy dragged Max kicking and screaming to his study where he held him over his lap.

It was unpleasant, but Max had endured worse at his hands, squeezing his eyes tight as Randy whipped out his drunken rage against Max's naked backside.

His breathing was laboured once he'd decided Max had had enough, Randy pushing the child off and telling him to get back to his room. He dropped his belt back onto his desk with a _thunk_.

Max pulled up his pants and scurried away upstairs like he was told, clutching his bruised behind in his hands and holding in his tears as best he could until he reached his bedroom, shutting the door and crying quietly into his pillow until his frustration and fear subsided.

He looked down at the tear-stained pillow case in disgust when all was done and finished, turning it over so he didn't have to see it. Crying was for pussies and little girls.

It hurt when Max moved to sit up, but he stayed silent, knowing the worst pain was yet to come, either in day two or three of healing. He pushed a hand down the back of the elasticated waist to gingerly brush against the marks, bringing it back out to inspect for blood.

Max was lucky; Randy hadn't broken the skin this time.

He pushed his hand against his stomach to try and curb the hunger still there, it almost balanced out by how his butt burned painfully.

The door began to open and Max froze, shifting himself backwards until his back was against the wall.

His eyes widened.

It was the strange man. The one who'd alluded to his presence in the first place and gained Randy's attention.

Max gave his best, murderous look. "The bathroom's down the hall, so fuck off."

The man, to his surprise, smiled and shook his head. "I didn't come up here to use the bathroom," he said like it was obvious. "I came here to give you this." He held out a paper bag, Max able to make out the bright yellow arches across the front of it through the dying bulb of his light. McDonald's.

Max stared.

"You mind if I come in?"

Max shrugged.

The strange man came over and sat himself down on the edge of Max's bed, curling an index finger and gesturing for Max to come closer.

He did, shifting on his sore bottom towards the stranger so he could take the bag, too delirious with hunger not to. He ripped it open under the stranger's watchful gaze, delighted to find a double cheeseburger and fries.

Max dug in, taking three big bites of the burgers followed by a handful of fries. He hummed in appreciation, the taste sweeter than anything he could possibly recall eating, grease stuck to the corners of his mouth as he chowed down the mess of melted cheese and beefy goodness.

Max stopped eating when he felt a hand in his hair, jerking his head away and shooting his gaze in the man's direction. He'd momentarily forgotten his presence. "What?" he snapped around his current mouthful.

The strange man's smile wavered. "Is that any way to treat someone who's just bought you food?"

Max swallowed. "I didn't ask you to."

"But you took it, didn't you?" he replied. "Wouldn't want me telling Randy downstairs you're being a rude little boy again, would we?"

"You think he scares me?" lied Max, scowling. He dropped the unfinished burger, screwed up the McDonald's wrapper and threw it in the man's face. "Get out my room, old man."

He shook his head, still smiling. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Whatever, creep, get your-" Max cut off, colouring draining from his face. The strange man had produced a knife.

The older pressed the flat of the metal against fabric of his pyjamas. "I did something for you," he said, calm, "it's only right you return the favour."

Max swallowed, the taste of grease in his mouth suddenly not so sweet. He looked down at the frightening blade in between his legs and back up at the assailant invading his bed. He seemed to tower over him now.

Max didn't have anything clever to say.

"Go on," leered the man. "Take them off."

Max's cheeks burned as he discarded his pyjama bottoms.


	2. Chapter 2

Max is nine-years-old when he's removed by social services for a second time.

His PE teacher starts poking her nose where it doesn't belong when she follows him into the locker room bathroom thinking he's up to mischief, and instead finds an injured little boy putting his shirt on.

He is at the precinct by the end of the day, passed from adult to adult as they process him. Max treats them all with the same contempt, angry and wanting to be left alone.

A policewoman leads him to a heated back room to take pictures of his arms, back and buttocks. She smiles gently throughout, trying to make conversation with Max, which only aggravates him further. She tries to offer him a donut and water once they're done, but he's learnt his lesson about accepting food from strangers and tells her to fuck off.

He is questioned by another policewoman, and he tells her where she can go too, but by this point he's exhausted by his anxiety and she manages to get out of him that Randy was responsible for his state.

He stays quiet about the strange man.

Max meets Vanessa who claims she's his social worker and he's put into emergency foster care. He doesn't learn the couple's names, doesn't care, and is quickly moved along to a group home in another town where he is told by Vanessa he's going to stay until they can find a more permanent foster carer.

Suddenly, he's no longer isolated, he's surrounded. Surrounded by people like him, children who are no longer children. Max sees plenty of eyes that are just like his own; eyes that are much too old for the bodies they reside in.

He's placed in dozens of homes, but none of them can manage a horrid child such as himself for further than a week.

There was an exception, Ms. Weiss, who had been okay and had even agreed to let Max stay with her a little longer after a week only to die in her sleep the following night from a stroke.

He wished Vanessa would stop finding him placements. Max couldn't stand anyone and they couldn't stand him either. He _wanted_ to be isolated, he _wanted_ to be left alone, he _wanted_ to be family-less.

That was when he placed with David.

"Hi, Max, it's nice to finally meet you, Vanessa has told me so much about you," Max's newest foster parent introduced. "I'm David. I hope we're gonna have a whole lot of fun this week together!"

They were at the front door of a mediocre looking house, with a mediocre looking drive and a mediocre looking man smiling much too wide to be considered as anything but untrustworthy. Max immediately hated him.

"Go to hell," Max replied, smiling right back at David through bared teeth.

David's smile dropped slightly, looking taken aback, which pleased Max. He instantly felt more in control of the situation.

"Max!" scolded Vanessa, whom he side-eyed before he pushed past David into his house, backpack slung over his shoulder. He wanted to get this over with.

"And that's Max on a good day," Max heard Vanessa joke behind him, the social worker smiling sympathetically at David, staying on the doorstep. She had warned David previously that Max was a handful.

David made a pathetic noise Max guessed was supposed to be a laugh. The two chattered a little while, too quietly for him to catch anything else.

Vanessa called over David's shoulder when she was finished, "Ring me if you need anything, Max. Okay, honey?"

Max didn't respond, still looking over the pictures of David's assumed friends and family on the walls. They all looked as uninteresting and unimpressive as David.

Vanessa sighed, and she and David said their goodbyes. "Good luck," Max heard Vanessa telling David as he shut the door, which ticked him off further.

He began to walk around the different rooms and found the interior was just as mediocre as the outside was.

There was a living room that took up the majority of the downstairs, the flat screen television the first piece of furniture to catch Max's eye. There was a low set coffee table which held a few coasters and a bowl of nuts and dried fruit, a standard sofa in front of it. He found a basket of balls of yarn and knitting needles beside the sofa which Max scoffed at. What was David? Eighty?

Max checked out the kitchen next, the surfaces clean, cork board and calendar on the side of the fridge, a worn kitchen table, some cook books. _Campfire Cooking_ , one read. Max approached some glass patio doors that led outside, peering through. It was the most untamed garden he'd ever seen, with wild grass and flowers, a big tree at the end that looked suitably climbable if Max ever gathered the energy.

A quick glance into the bathroom confirmed that was as clean and well-kept as everywhere else, a glass hedgehog on the windowsill. He shut the door and walked back down the hall. His bags were gone.

"Do you like it?" David asked, Max looking up to see the man descending the stairs.

"You have shit taste," replied Max, blunt. He took a few steps back. "Where are my bags?"

David came to the bottom couple of steps. "Oh, I just popped them upstairs for-"

"Don't touch my stuff. It pisses me off."

David blinked. "Oh. Er, well…" he laughed, almost as if he was nervous. Max didn't understand what he had to be nervous about, Max was the one trapped in a house with some dude he didn't know the motive of.

"Would you like to come upstairs and see your bedroom?" asked David after a couple of beats of silence.

"No." Max glowered.

"Alrighty, then."

There was another awkward pause. David hovered, trying to catch Max's eyes with another deceptive smile. Max maintained the cautious distance between them, taking no chances. He got a good look at David. He didn't like what he saw. Not one bit.

"Do you want to take off your shoes? There's a shoe rack in the hall."

"Why?" spat Max defensively, taking another half step back. "To stop me getting dirt all over your precious floors?"

David blinked before he shook his head. His voice stayed at the same, calm frequency he asked all his pointless questions in. "I just thought it might make you feel more at home, is all."

Max didn't know how to respond. He gritted his teeth, squeezing his hands into mini fists inside his hoodie pockets. He eventually opted for plain defiance. "No."

David held up his hands in surrender, yet another stupid smile coming to his stupid face. "That's alright, Max, you can do whatever makes you feel comfortable."

Max walked away, going back into David's living room. His shoulders were rigid as he swiped up the remote, wanting to see what TV channels David had. He tensed as he waited for some kind of altercation, for David to come storming in after him and demand for him to take off his shoes.

He brought the television to life, glanced to the empty door frame and… nothing happened.

He'd been left alone.

Max flicked the television on mute, able to hear David moving around in the kitchen when he paid closer attention.

Confused but ultimately deciding not to question it, Max unmuted the screen and moved to sit down on David's sofa. He rarely got free reign of the television at the home, the other kids usually keeping _Cartoon Network_ or _Nickelodeon_ on all day. He clicked to a random movie channel halfway through a cheap action flick.

It was dull, but Max watched anyway. It wasn't like there was much else to do whilst he waited out his time trapped there.

David made them sausages, real mashed potatoes and SpaghettiOs for dinner.

It was comforting to get to eat a proper cooked meal again, not like the cheap shit the home made en masse or the takeaway leftovers he used to fish out of the Marsh's trash can when Randy was too drunk to go out to do the weekly grocery shop.

It reminded Max of the meals Ms. Weiss would make.

"Are you enjoying it?" asked David halfway through his plate, breaking into Max's thoughts.

Max scowled. "Fine."

David just smiled and refilled Max's glass with juice.

After dinner David went back upstairs, ran Max a bath and showed him to his spare bedroom when he was done.

It was a plain room, with beige walls and a neutral carpet. There were striped covers on the bed and the curtains were an ugly mauve colour, both of which he disliked, although he guessed the blue stripes of the sheets weren't that bad. Max's bags were sat waiting for him in the middle of the room.

Max had his towel wrapped tight over his shoulders, covering up his entire body from the neck down. David still hadn't left the room and this made him nervous.

"I know it's a little boring," said David. "I actually had quite a few ideas about how to decorate it, but then I thought, what's the fun of having your own bedroom if you're not the one who's decorating it?" He gave Max a bright smile.

Max gripped his towel tighter. "You think I care, David? You think I want to be here longer than I have to be?"

David's words had made him uncomfortable, and the only way Max knew how to deal with discomfort was lashing out.

David looked disappointed, and Max almost felt bad for a split second before he remembered he didn't care how David felt. "If that's what you want, Max," he accepted.

Max was left alone again, like he told himself he wanted. He got changed into the pyjamas in his bag and hopped into bed, not returning David's goodnight as he peeped his head around his door twenty minutes later.

The next several days continue to be the strangest experience of Max's life. He'd try his best repeatedly to cause David to snap, yell, do _something_ , but it never worked. He talked back at every opportunity he could, disobeyed suggestions, even going so far as to spill hot chocolate (un)intentionally all over the sofa.

David's cheery brand of patience was impenetrable. And infectious.

Before he knew it, Max was starting to take off his shoes at the front door, asking David what he was making for dinner, anticipating bath time, feeling safety as he got into the back of David's car at the end of each school day. Feeling safe in general when David was around.

David could sit beside Max now without him tensing up, smile at him without Max shooting back a poisonous glare, offer him food without Max's stomach seizing up and making him feel nauseous and unhungry.

David wasn't going to hurt him. David didn't want anything from him. David made him feel _safe._

When Max realised, he couldn't even find it in himself to be angry.

Living with David was weird. Living with David was… nice.

"Hey, Max, how was school?" asked David as Max climbed in the back, smiling at him in the rear-view mirror like he'd been doing after school every-damn-day for the past five days.

Max crossed his arms and glared out the window. "Fine," he said plainly, although the malice had toned down significantly.

"That's good! Learn anything fun?" David was a fountain of enthusiasm, happy enough that Max was speaking to him that afternoon.

"If you think school is fun you need a fucking brain transplant," replied Max, raising a brow.

"Hey, now! School can be lots of fun! Besides, that's not a very nice word, Max," scolded David.

"Bite me, David."

David sighed, dropping the subject before it escalated. "I was thinking we could go out camping this weekend. Would you like that?"

"I can't think of anything worse."

They ended up going camping anyway. Max hated it a little less than he thought he would.

The weekend away went by quickly and before Max knew it, it was Monday again. Time for Vanessa to come collect him and take him back to the home.

Max stayed quiet throughout the ride back home from school Monday afternoon and dragged his feet on the ground following David to his front door. He took off his shoes and set them on David's shoe rack, ate the hot meal that David prepared and put in front of him, put his plate in the dishwasher and disappeared upstairs to David's spare bedroom to pack his bags.

It was a normal state of affairs and Max told himself he wasn't sad about it. Not one bit. Not even when a few tears left his eyes when he sat in David's bathroom, inside the bathtub he wasn't going to get to use that night, waiting for the sound of Vanessa's car to pull up on the driveway.

David called him downstairs and he did what he was told for once, shoving his hands into his pockets, going out into the living room where the adults were sat with hot drinks and paperwork he had little interest in.

"Come sit," encouraged David, patting the space beside him.

Max scowled, but moved to sit on the couch cushion. The meeting began.

"So," Max's social worker took in a breath, took a drink from her coffee, and asked, "How have you two been getting along?"

"Great!" David chirped back. His back was straight, knees together, hands clasped in his lap. He gave a big, enthusiastic grin. "We didn't really get up to much during the week because Max had school, but we did go camping this weekend and I got to show Max where I work! I think he's settling in great considering it's his first week here."

Max couldn't believe what had just come out of David's mouth

Vanessa's eyebrows were also raised, but she beamed sunshine that rivalled David's after her initial shock. "That's absolutely brilliant news." Her tired eyes were alight. "Does this mean you're happy keeping Max for another week or two before another check in?"

At her question, Max held his breath and stared at his socked feet. Here it came: the excuse, the decline, the shake of David's head as he palmed Max back to the group home where he'd stay until the day he turned eighteen.

"Yes," said David without missing a beat, "I'd be very happy to."

A lump caught in Max's throat and there was a pause.

David continued, turning in the child's direction, "…If that's okay with you, Max?"

Max's eyes widened, looking up to find the two adults peering silently, waiting for his answer. He looked to Vanessa, who appeared as surprised as he was. He looked to David, who gave him a warm look he knew for a fact he didn't deserve, a smile that met his eyes.

Max's insides bunched up, digging his nails into his hand inside his hoodie pocket to try and stay calm. He swallowed thickly, eyes casting downwards again. "I guess, whatever," he said, adding lamely, "Doesn't make a difference to me."

When he glanced up, Vanessa was glowing, David smiling at him wider, tears in his eyes Max didn't understand. He rubbed a kind hand over Max's back. David sniffed, trying to remain upbeat. "Well," said David, voice breaking with emotion as he turned back to the social worker, "that's that then."


End file.
